


Love is Ash

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night rendezvous between the Governor of the Eyrie's new husband and his supposed daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is Ash

Petyr slid into bed almost at midnight. Lysa was already fast asleep, snoring louder than usual, her face buried in her auburn hair.

Petyr sighed, not really sure if he wanted to lie there and listen to her loud inhalations and half-hearted mumbles while he counted ceiling tiles. He jokingly thought about quietly sneaking down the hall and slipping into another much more inviting bed, but he immediately brushed it off as being too risky, though his fingers twitched at the thought of touching her again.

When they decided together to go through with his plan they both agreed to play it safe. He married Lysa to gain her power and influence as governor, and Sansa was dating Harry, the young CEO in training, to further stretch their empire. It was a long con in the purest sense, but their mark was huge.

Even so, with their iron clad plan, he still burned with jealousy that the little heir to the largest energy firm in Westeros touched his Sansa at free will while Petyr was limited to fatherly kisses on the cheek and the occasional touch of the hand. 

Sansa loved to torture him, he was sure of it. That stunt she had tried to pull a few evenings ago. Reaching her long beautiful leg under the dinner table to tease him like that. He had taken Lysa roughly that night with the thought of it and still had to have a cold shower afterwards just to stop feeling the tingling sensation of her delicate foot sliding up his needy calf. Lysa was no decent substitute for his lovely little minx. His true partner in crime and in love. The girl he has been waiting for his entire life.

He could feel himself stiffening slightly under the blanket and he sighed, looking over at Lysa. She snored loudly, in a near comatose sleep. Well, it wasn't like she was going to wake up any time soon. Before he could even truly justify it for himself his hand was already steadily beating him to the punch. It slid down his chest to his legs, hesitantly fiddling with the waist of his boxers, about to dive in and bring him off silently with the thought of a dainty pale foot, when he heard the door creak. 

Petyr's eyes shot to the door, his breath catching in his throat and his hand instantly retreating from his boxers to delve under the mattress, fingering the small one-shot pistol he kept tucked between the box spring and baseboard.

The door opened and a shadow, like a veiled being crept into the room. Burglar? Maid? Paparazzi trying to sneak a photo of the governess and her new - old - husband.

He saw a faint glimmer of red and his heart skipped.

What was she doing in here?

She crept silently over to the bed. He could feel her eyes on him, though he couldn't see the azure orbs himself. She knew he was awake and looking at her.

He could see the outline of her head look over to Lysa, still dead asleep, then back to him, before wordlessly lifting up one end of the covers at the foot of the bed and disappearing underneath.

What was his little minx up to?

He felt her hand on his leg playing with his foot before ghosting up his calf in a soft remembrance of their dinner game. The roaming mound of duvet kept crawling forward, like a mole in the dirt. Her hands insistent against his thighs as her face, at least it felt like her face, nuzzled his crotch playfully. He bit his lip to keep from groaning.

His eyes shot over to Lysa fearfully. This was a dangerous game.

His minx's delicate little paw pushed up his nightshirt to expose his tummy, giving the more tender flesh a soft kiss and nuzzle before trailing slightly rougher kisses upwards towards his sternum, her tongue grazing the edge of his scar. He lurched slightly, trying to contain the deep rumble of pleasure building in the back of his throat.

Red hair peeked out from under the duvet swiftly followed by the dark azure of his beloved, and the wickedest smile he'd ever seen on his beauteous creature.

She grinned at him breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with the moonlight.

His hand instinctively came up to cup her cheek. His beautiful darling. How he had managed not being in her arms for so long was beyond him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered. Not harshly, just concerned. His eyes darted over to his slumbering wife.

"Don't worry," his minx sparkled with mischievousness. "I went to the doctor the other day, complained I was suffering bouts of insomnia, he prescribed me a drug, I tested it out to make sure it was an actual sleep remedy and not a placebo." Sansa's grin darkened slightly. "Then tonight, I invited Lysa to have a late night cup of tea to talk about boy troubles. I talked so much I don't think she even noticed the fact that I never took a sip."

Petyr wanted to kiss this clever and conniving woman.

"You minx," he grinned, his hand entangling in her hair and bringing her down for a light kiss. 

"I have not had you in two months," Sansa hissed, a hand coming up and roughly tugging on his hair.

Petyr winced slightly at the rough treatment which he liked all too much coming from his Sansa. 

"What about the boy?" Petyr teased.

"Harold is a gentleman, he believes in the sanctity of marriage, so does Alayne. They enjoy walking hand-in-hand and sharing light kisses over strawberry sundaes. But Alayne is not here right now."

Petyr gasped slightly as he felt her hand roughly grope him through his boxers.

"Sansa," he hissed.

"Yes," she smiled down at him. "Sansa only has eyes for one."

Petyr felt his heart thump again.

"Not Mr. Baelish," she spat, looking over to her aunt. "Not the conniving little weasel Littlefinger," she squeezed him a little making him jolt slightly. "But Petyr," her face softened, lovingly. "My Petyr."

Petyr roughly pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

"You're a dangerous girl, Sansa," he whispered, breaking the kiss, their faces were only millimeters apart. His hand left her hair to slide down her back to her glorious little rump, resting it on one of her soft cheeks. "What can I do for you?"

Sansa smirked and sat up, straddling him fully. It was then he realized she was wearing her nightie and nothing else. Her sex was damp and raw and resting on top of his slowly hardening member.

"First off," she shook her hair behind her head and brought her hands down to the button on his boxers. "You promised me something when we decided to enter into this game."

Petyr bit his lip slightly, resisting the urge to buck up into her.

"I did?" he tried to play dumb, knowing full well what she wanted from him.

"You said, that nothing would change between us."

Petyr groaned as he felt cool air against his crotch.

"It hasn't."

"It has," she insisted. "From what I can tell, it's been two months and not once have you visited me at night, when you should've been, when I all but invited you."

Petyr smirked, knowing the precise incident she was referring to.

"I had to make sure it was safe," he rasped. "I couldn't let Lysa find out about us too soon, I was...I was just waiting for the appropriate time."

Her hand wrapped around him and squeezed.

"Two months!"

He shushed her trying to stifle his own groan.

"I was being cautious...perhaps overly so, I thought if the Baelish's got into a routine as a family we would not garner suspicion once we started deviating. I have not forgotten about you, my love. It has been torture being away from you. Do you think I like sleeping next to her, snoring away like she does, knowing you are just down the hall, ready and waiting. The only way I can get through a single night with her is by thinking of you."

Sansa loosened her grip on him slightly.

"You do?"

He smiled at her earnestly.

"I have had many a cold shower trying to prevent myself from tearing off my clothes and running to your room and taking you like a rampant animal."

That made her smile coyly, her eyes darkening with a twinge of lust.

"Then show me," she whispered huskily. "Right here. While your wife delicately slumbers."

Petyr looked hesitantly over to Lysa.

"She isn't going to wake up," Sansa challenged him. 

Petyr looked back at her for a moment then nodded, his hand coming to rest on her bare thigh while his other beckoned her towards him so he could kiss her, softly at first, warming her up to him. The hand on her knee kneading the tender flesh in rhythm.

She sighed pleasurably, pressing into his kiss, suckling on his lower lip and shifting closer, making sure to grind a little on his crotch as she passed over it, her bare sex now resting on his bare stomach. She knew he could feel her wetness; she could feel his breath hitch slightly as flesh touched skin. 

His gentle kisses quickly turned hungry, possessive, the way she liked him. 

She knew he never kissed Lysa this way, not with as much fervor or passion. Aunt Lysa was happy with what she got, she always had been, Petyr had never given her his all. He may have come close in their numerous attempts at trying to conceive, but that was out of his desperate want to be a father, to have something more in his marriage other than a loveless partnership. 

Sansa felt him pressing up against her ass and she smiled. Maybe one day she would be the one to give him the daughter or son he had lost. The thought wasn't completely discouraging, though she didn't want to dwell. Those were thoughts to be saved for another time. Right now she was hopped up on adrenaline and birth control, because she needed to feel him inside her, to assure herself that they were still in this together. She may have taken it to extremes but she figured it would start a burning fire within him.

Petyr groaned into her mouth. Sansa smirked against his lips. There he is!

Petyr pried his lips away, sucking in a deep breath.

"Oh god...Sansa," he hissed.

She sat back up, shaking her hair out in front of her. It was darker than he usually liked it but she knew he loved the tactile feel of pushing it off her face. Like revealing what was behind the curtain. She reached a hand back and groped his growing stiffness. She contemplated pulling off his boxers with her teeth and giving him a few well placed kisses, but she decided against it. She didn't have to prove anything to him, she proved enough just by arranging this. It was his turn. 

Petyr looked strained, his dark eyes glinting at her with want, then flitting back over to Lysa snoring beside him. She could tell he was figuring out a way to do this without rousing his wife and blowing their cover.

Sansa leaned down to his ear, a hand coming to rest above his scar. 

"What do you want, Petyr?"

Petyr whimpered slightly, placing desperately hot kisses to her jawline and neck, anywhere he could reach before she pulled away from him once again. The hand on his chest kept him from sitting up.

She'd never taken control like this before, and man did it make him hunger for her. 

Sansa sat back, pressing the glorious curve of her rump into his manhood, and grinding, making his brow furrow as he fought to control himself.

"I'm not very impressed so far by your...heh, rampant animal."

How dare she use his own words against him? His hand clenched around her thigh, hoping to leave bruises.

He knew what she wanted him to do...she knew what he wanted to do. He was stuck.

"I want you to take me," he whispered hoarsely, his body relaxing suddenly, a challenging grin overtaking his face. She'd gone this far, he wanted to see her take complete control of him. She was his equal in all things, why not in his bed?

Petyr let go of her thigh and put both of his arms above his head in a submissive gesture.

Sansa watched, her eyes keen. How dare he take the power away from her like that! Oh he was "playing" the submissive, but she could see the smug dominance in his eyes as he rested back into the mattress waiting to see what she would do now that he'd given her the option. He knew her too well.

Sansa smiled, reaching a hand into his boxers and leading him out.

"You play dirty, Mr. Baelish." They were back to formal names. "Tell me, are you as dirty with this as you are with your words?"

Petyr was laughing with his eyes as she gave featherlight caresses to his cock. He shrugged in response.

Sansa placed both of her arms firmly on his wrists, hovering above him with an inquisitive eye. What was it about him that brought this out in her?

She kissed him, briefly, a quick dip of the tongue, a flash of lips then pulled back again, his chin trying to follow her. She met his eyes again, the pupils darkened suddenly. She leaned in for another kiss and pulled back before he could get more than just a taste. The chords in his neck were bulging with the restraint and his face was turning slightly pink with the effort - oh, and the desperate pants! They were the most exciting sound she could ever hear from that gravelly voice of his. 

She rocked her pelvis into his hip bones, finding one of the bony protrusions to rub against, neglecting his manhood altogether as it lay cooling out of his boxers behind her ass.

He wasn't ready for her yet, she decided. He lifted his hips in encouragement as she rubbed against him again. 

She dipped in to meet his lips for a third time, this time letting the kiss linger a second longer, but still not long enough for him.

There was fire in his eyes. Oh how he wanted her!

Lysa shifted in her sleep shocking Sansa out of the rhythm she'd been establishing. One hand left Petyr's arm to clasp over her mouth as a cry threatened to emanate forth out of the surprise. With a soft snort and laugh she buried her face in his chest, hiding her blush of embarrassment. Petyr softly cooed and shushed, his hands coming to her hair. 

"We have to be quick," he whispered and she smiled, her confidence regained. She shoved his shirt up higher so she could see more of his scar. Petyr was a little shocked at her change in mood, from bashful to bold in the span of a heartbeat. She ran her tongue up the jagged pink scar, causing him to let out a strangled whimper. She caught a nipple between her teeth and worried it slightly, enjoying how he squirmed beneath her. She bit him playfully, causing him to yelp in surprise. A tiny puppy of a yelp, that was altogether too cute coming from his mouth.

Petyr's hand slid under her night gown to feel out a breast, palming one in his hand, with the other still tangled in her hair.

With renewed fervor she kissed him, strongly and with great vigor, plundering his mouth with her tongue. It was hot and their mixed breaths left a misty sheen on their noses and foreheads. Neither cared, it was so minor a sensation compared to the building heat between them. 

Sansa pulled back and sat up, pulling his hand out from her shirt and pinning both his arms to the bed more forcefully than before. Fuck if he was ready, she was!

She shimmied backwards slightly lifting her hips up to position herself correctly, slapping Petyr's hand when he tried to help, then sinking down on to him fully without so much as a warning. His back arched up as she went down and she smiled with self-satisfaction at taking him by surprise. 

Sansa had one goal in mind the moment she had him inside her, and she did not relent. With an almighty fury she started them off fast and steady. Her hands returned to his arms to keep him pinned and she laughed lowly as he was desperately trying to jerk his hips up in rhythm. She liked the broken rhythm of it all, it was jagged and brutal; out of sync but in its own sync at the same time. Petyr's hips practically lifted them off the bed as he tried to thrust into her properly, his back arching, throwing his head back and engorging the chords in his neck with the strain. He looked magnificent. Like a Titan trying to break his godly-chains.

One of her hands slipped from his arms to brace herself on the bed, her breasts grazing his chest through the fabric of her nightgown.

Her forehead touched his as they continued their frantic pace, her hair was starting to dampen around the edges of her face from the exertion and he was panting like a dog in heat. Her hand on his arm suddenly slipped into his and their fingers entwined, changing the game from a power-struggle to a shared intimacy. His hand squeezed hers lovingly as his other came around her waist to help facilitate their movement together. It was frantic and desperate. She had missed this. He had definitely missed this.

She kissed him again, sweetly, in juxtaposition to their brutal pace. He met her kiss with sweet ones of his own; pecking her mouth, her cheek, her neck, wherever he could reach. With a startling gasp he wrenched away suddenly, his eyes screwing shut and she did not falter, she had him exactly where she wanted him. He was close. She moved quicker, with sharper thrusts, he was going to come first or so help her...

"Hhmmm...Petyr..." Lysa mumbled beside them.

In a blinding flash she was spun over, and tucked under him. Petyr had rolled them over, sharply, still connected to her, and had brought an arm around her as if to shield her. Lysa groaned, turning over with bleary half-opened eyes. Petyr was panting against her back, the duvet brought up almost to Sansa's head to cover their entwined bodies. His eyes were painted with dread as he looked over to his wife, trembling and panting with Sansa in his arms.

"What are you doing?" Lysa sleepily mumbled. She hadn't seen Sansa, he could tell, she was still in some kind of half-dreaming state, only being stirred by what must've been some frantic movement on his side of the bed.

"Sorry," he huffed, trying to smile casually. "Nightmare...go back to sleep, darling."

Lysa mumbled incoherently and nodded rolling over and burying her head under a pillow.

Petyr exhaled the moment she started to snore again and flopped over, uncovering his dirty little bedmate.

"That was close," Sansa whispered with a soft giggle, cuddling against his chest.

"It was," Petyr sighed humorlessly.

"Oh come on," Sansa turned to face him. "She's not going to remember that in a million years. If she did she'll think it was a weird dream."

Petyr nodded. "I still don't think we should tempt fate."

Sansa frowned.

"So what about this?" she gestured to their still joined sex.

Petyr groaned slightly. Scrubbing a hand over her face.

"Go back to your room, quietly, I'll be there in two minutes," he ordered. "Go!"

Sansa nodded with a slight frown, pulling off of him with a wet squelch. As cat-like as she had entered so did she escape, her eyes darting back to Petyr's momentarily when she reached the door; she did not fully trust him to come to her room and finish what they had started. 

Petyr watched Sansa leave with a wary eye. That minx...she was going to be the death of him.

He looked over to Lysa who had fallen back into a light snore underneath her pillow.

With a sigh he sat up, tucking himself back into his boxers and tugging his shirt back down over his scar. He felt around for his bathrobe and quickly put it on in the dark. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake his nerves.  
Lysa's little interruption had put the fear of god back into his veins; what if she had seen, what if the drugs hadn't worked...what if she had known the whole time what they were up to? The idea frightened him. But...but he looked straight into her eyes...Lysa is not as good an actress as she likes to think, if she had seen anything he would be able to see it in her eyes, the green-like hue of envy, possessiveness and jealousy that accompanied his sweet little wife throughout their entire first marriage and now their second. If he shook another woman's hand her eyes flared with it. Had she turned over to see Sansa riding him right next to her there would've been a fury like wildfire burning in her glassy orbs. All he saw was tiredness and confusion.

Petyr tied the sash on his robe and quickly darted out of the room, careful to check if there were any of the maid staff wandering about, or Robert for that matter. With his senses on alert he crept down the hall to Sansa's room, an ear open to every creak and moan the spacious mansion had to offer.

Her door was left open a crack and he could see a light through the door, beckoning him. That minx.

With one more cautionary look he snuck in, closing the door behind him.

Sansa was waiting for him on the bed. Her nightgown was hiked up to her waist and one of her knees was bent upwards, exposing her beautiful glistening womanhood, waiting for him.

Petyr did not give his want away so easily this time. He was still annoyed with her. She had put them in a terribly compromising situation, almost recklessly. Though he adored her for it, he couldn't let it happen again.

Sansa was leaning back on her bed, resting herself on her arms, a seductive come hither look on her face. 

Without looking he locked the door behind him and undid the sash of his robe. A hint of a smile played at Sansa's lips.

"Get up," he said gruffly but sternly.

Sansa did as she was told.

"Take your nightie off," he ordered. She complied, standing naked in front of him.

He admired her pert breasts and long bare legs for barely a moment before pointing to the oak dresser across the room.

"There," he growled, predatorily. "Put your hands on the vanity, palm down."

Sansa sauntered over there with an alluring sway of her hips, and did as he commanded.

"Spread your legs," he continued, watching her from the door. He was dead calm, and very intense looking. The thought of what he might do to her excited her. She did what he asked, allowing herself to push her bum out a little more than necessary, like an open invitation. 

Petyr watched her with a glint in his eye. He pulled his robe off his shoulders and dropped it carelessly to the floor.

Sansa smiled seductively, waiting patiently for him.

"What you did tonight was dangerous Sansa," he warned. "Too dangerous."

He was behind her, she could see him through the mirror on the vanity. He was still stiff in his boxers, and his hands were clenching and unclenching by his side.

"From now on we have to be more careful," he hissed. "Lest we are to destroy everything we've worked for."

Sansa nodded. This was Littlefinger talking; the man with the plan. Littlefinger was a no-nonsense bastard who did not like being surprised; he was conniving and manipulative; domineering and rough, and liked to assert his control whenever he could. Of all Petyr's personas he wasn't the worst fuck; he had his moments, like right now, when he stared at her that way. 

It was funny how she classified her different interactions with Petyr. 

There was Mr. Baelish, husband of Lysa Baelish (nee Arryn - nee Tully) the caring father of Alayne Stone and Robert Arryn; decent politician, and hard-working citizen. He was off limits. If he was Mr. Baelish then she was Alayne Stone, and their relationship was paternal and affectionate like any father-daughter relationship would be. Then there was Littlefinger: the weasel; the brothel owner; the bastard. He liked to be in control...of everything! He knew everything, and had very little patience for bullshit. He liked it rough and from behind; quick and dirty with all his clothes on and a few bruises left behind. She would play the naughty school girl for the stern educator. She'd take his spanks and wrist slaps before taking his cock with a dirty smile on her face the entire time. He could be fun when the right mood called for it. Then there was just Petyr, her sweet Petyr, the persona (she believed) that was the closest to his real person than any of them. It was Petyr she craved more than any of them; it was Petyr she had come to earlier that evening, in his bedroom. Where Littlefinger demanded control, Petyr shared it. Petyr needed intimacy, affection, attention and love. He was the one whom Sansa was in love with, the one who tempered Littlefinger's rage, and threw Mr. Baelish's fatherly affections out the window. Petyr was the boy who had loved her mother and in turn received a hideous scar. Petyr was easily hurt, and scared of being alone and unloved. Petyr needed her. Petyr would do anything for her. Petyr loved her.

But he was not Petyr right now. Littlefinger had entered with an engorged member and an insatiable appetite, ready for the hunt. Ready to reassert the control Petyr had so freely given.

Roughly his hand was in her hair, gripping it loosely but still enough for her to feel the tug. Swiftly he was pressed up against her, his bulge rubbing against her ass and his mouth leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

Sansa gasped at the feel of his tongue against her neck, grinding back into him playfully. A hand shot down to forcefully still her hips as he continued kissing her neck and shoulder. Sansa tried to squirm to gain a little freedom but it only served to make him hold her tighter.

His kisses trailed up to the space behind her ear and she heard his rasping breath as he pulled away, his grey eyes meeting her blues in the mirror. 

"I should punish you," he whispered into her ear hoarsely. "But that would only serve to make you more rebellious."

The hand on her hip slipped frontwards across her abdomen to her pelvis, resting just above her nest of curls at the apex of her legs, almost teasingly too close for comfort.

"Instead I must educate you," he kissed the shell of her ear briefly then bit on the lobe, bending down to kiss her neck once again.

"Ever the teacher," Sansa teased, not taking her eyes away from the reflection in the mirror. The hand in her hair gripped tighter the moment the words tumbled out of her mouth. She winced at the slight pain.

"Yes," he hissed. "Until you learn, you must be taught."

Sansa squirmed slightly against him, causing the hand on her pelvis to leave its precarious spot and wrap around her arm, pulling it back and pinning it behind her, restraining her further.

Sansa grinned, challenging him with her eyes as he stepped closer to her.

"Whatever you say, Professor," she winked mischievously and saw the fire burst in his eyes. She knew how to appeal to Littlefinger. 

A tiny shove had her almost falling into the vanity, her hand released just in time to catch herself before crashing into the mirror.

She heard a brief shuffling of fabric then with one harsh thrust he was in her, letting out an animalistic grunt as he buried himself in her to the hilt. Sansa gasped and groaned, adding a high-pitched whimper, again playing to Littlefinger's tastes. He liked a little pain with his pleasure it seemed. His eyes slammed shut, like a shield to his inner world and both his hands came to her waist, gripping her roughly as he began to thrust, at first slowly, jagged and sharp, punctuated by the occasional hiss on his part. Sansa watched his face contort in the mirror. He was beautiful some times; the curve of his mouth as he tried to hold back his primal howls of dominance; the way his brow furrowed in concentration; his neck bulging with the strain. He managed to look elegant all the while. An Adonis among apes. 

Petyr pulled back then pushed in, picking up speed with every thrust, a finger coming to rest on the edge of her thigh. She could feel the cold metallic sting of his wedding band against her skin, which only served to make her more determined. In a teasing manner, she clenched her inner muscles against him as he brought his hips out, watching his eyes squeeze slightly at the new sensation. 

He thrust in harsher than before and hissed sharply as she met him and squeezed him once again. It spurred him to pick up his pace even more so. One of his hands slid from its perch on her hip to between her legs, nesting in her curls. Sansa clenched the edge of the vanity as soon as she felt him drag a finger along her slit, bringing it precariously close to her clit but not quite touching it. 

Her whole body begged for her to close her eyes and let the sensations wash over her but she refused, straining to keep her eyes open and focused on his face in the mirror. A grin formed on her face. Looking at him, in the throes of his passion, eyes shut tight and mouth hanging slightly open, the apples of his cheeks - not fully formed but there - pulling the corners of his mouth in a slight smile. He was beautiful like this, she decided.

The pace of his thrusts was brutal and felt unending, not that she wanted it to. Petyr's hand left her legs and slammed almost violently into the dresser as he tried to brace himself against his building pleasure. Her own knuckles were white where they curled around the polished oak. 

"Petyr," she gasped, moaning slightly.

The hand in her hair shot around and clamped over her mouth roughly, barely slowing down his driving thrusts into her as he did so.

On a whim she opened her mouth against the palm of his hand and bit harshly on to the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger, causing him to hiss in pain and pull his hand back. She grinned at the glare he fixed her with in the mirror. 

With renewed purpose he reached a hand down to her clit and pinched it. Sansa had to bite her tongue to keep from keening loudly, throwing her head back and shaking her reddy-brown hair out for him to inhale. His nose bumped against the back of her head and she heard him suck in a deep breath, filling himself with her scent. The sound caused her to turn her head around sharply and kiss his quivering lower lip as best she could from that angle. Her hand rested over his on the vanity, fingers squeezing over and between his, while her other joined his hand at their joined sex and the guided him towards where she needed his touch.

Petyr whimpered into her mouth; an almost pathetically desperate sound. He yanked his head forcefully away and moaned lowly - like the deep rumble of a wildcat - and pounded into her relentlessly before he broke. His whole body went taut; his movements lost rhythm, his grip on the vanity tightening - she feared that it would break and splinter under his might.

A deep, wet, warmth filled her from top to bottom. She guided his shaking hand into a few more well placed strokes and she joined him over the edge, her climax pulling her back into his embrace.

She was so light and warm and breathless that she felt that she was floating for a moment. Floating in space, in nothingness, with just his smell and his warmth to carry her. 

Sansa came down from her high, her eyes slowly cracking open to see Petyr - her Petyr standing there, looking at her; a mixture of love and tenderness strewn across his crumpled brow. Her hand was still resting upon his on the vanity and she liked the look of it. His wedding ring was resting under her finger; her promise ring from Harry rested on her ring finger above it. In the low light and glimmering shimmer from their recent coupling, the two rings almost looked like pairs. 

She smiled, brightly, grazing her fingers lightly over his. The pair of hands still between her legs turned and clasped. She could feel a smear of slickness transfer over from his hand to hers, but she didn't mind it. 

Petyr spun her around in his arms so she was facing him. He looked like a boy in the dim orange-blue light, his grin as wide as a child's. His blue-grey eyes sparkled, the way they did when he was happy - truly happy. He pulled her to him, resting his forehead against hers as his eyes closed.

"I've missed you," he whispered. It was so quiet and quick she thought she'd dreamt it for a second.

Before she could answer he had scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her, bridal style to her bed. He carefully rested her on the bed and picked up his robe from the floor, draping it over her. The sweet gesture made her laugh slightly. Petyr turned off her lamp, bathing the room in moonlight. She couldn't see him for a moment and wondered if he had left until she felt the bed give under his weight as he crawled in beside her. Sansa put her arms through the sleeves of the robe and wrapped it loosely around her before sidling up closer to lie face to face with him, grabbing his hand and entwining it with hers. She could just see the side of Petyr's face as they lay there in the dark, but she could tell he was still smiling.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips almost brushing against hers. That's how close they were, touching but not quite touching. 

Littlefinger was gone for now, Littlefinger never stayed longer than he wanted to. Here was Petyr, maybe it had been Petyr all along; maybe he had only pretended to be Littlefinger to gain some control back from her. Sansa smiled and leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss in his lips. 

"I know," she whispered back.

"I never want to leave," he brought his free hand up to caress her face, tucking a stray, damp lock behind her ear.

"What about your wife?" she teased slightly.

"You are my wife," he whispered. "You are my life, my soul. When I said those vows to Lysa I meant it all for you. If it were up to me, I'd take you away this instant, we'd go...as far as we could, somewhere where no one knows our name or faces. Someplace warm, on the beach. Secluded, just you and me, and whatever life we wanted."

Sansa felt her eyes blur with sweet tears. What was he saying? Petyr never spoke like this, despite his romantic tendencies, Petyr was not the type to spout out dreams and hopes, at least, not since he was a boy and her mother and aunt had broken all of his. Sansa could not tell where all this was coming from but it didn't take away it's significance. She had never felt so close to the man she loved than she did right now.

"Then why don't we?"

She felt Petyr shake his head. Ah, the realist had settled back in.

"We can't...not yet anyways. I promised you we would get your vengeance and we will, my love. And when we have left all of them, including my "dear wife", smoldering in the ashes, then we can make a new life for ourselves. If we want to build a new home we must first demolish the old one."

Sansa nodded.

"But I promise you, one day, once Lysa is no longer of use to us..." Petyr's finger grazed over her ring finger, pulling at the little silver band wrapped around it until it slid past her knuckle. He tossed the cheap keepsake away and brought her hand up to his lips. "It will be my ring adorning your beautiful little finger."

He kissed her ring finger lovingly and Sansa couldn't stop herself from crying a little. It was the most sincere promise he could ever give, the promise that they would be happy together no matter what. She grasped his head in both her hands and kissed him fully, pulling him as close as possible to her, she wanted to be wrapped in him.

"Stay with me tonight, please," she gasped as she pulled out of the kiss. "Just for a little while longer."

Petyr said nothing but nodded against her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally part of a AU fic I had started to write but have lost inspiration in, so I decided to post the bits and fragments as One-shots because I do still like them. First time writing for the Game of Throne fandom so....fingers crossed!


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